


a quiet afternoon

by aislinngun



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislinngun/pseuds/aislinngun
Summary: So, sincePetcame out I've had a lot of feelings. I have also woken up at five A.M. today.





	a quiet afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> So, since _Pet_ came out I've had a lot of feelings. I have also woken up at five A.M. today.

The reading room was filled with books. Maybe it was not as impressive as the library at the court in Arles, but there were three formidable bookstands on each of the walls, interspersed wih high windows letting in the late afternoon light, unobscured by the curtains hanging heavy on the sides. There was only one wall unoccupied, and it was the one with the door, which jamb Ancel was leaning on right now, looking at Berenger.

 

He was seated in an armchair with his legs put on the matching footrest, which was the exact same height, and long enough to let a person recline comfortably, as if in a chaise longue, but with the difference of both arms being supported. The light of the late afternoon was as kind to him as the early morning one, making his eyes even warmer than usually and his skin almost gold. Ancel noticed that his hair was getting a bit long, and that there would be a need to cut them soon, but for now the soft locks it was starting to curl into were there to look at. Maybe to thread his fingers through.

 

Berenger was engrossed in a book, but when Ancel moved, he noticed him and looked up, his expression relaxed, without strain.

 

“What is it?” he asked.

 

Ancel walked to him silently and draped himself on his side, putting his hand on the front lacing of Berenger's jacket. It was duly hideous and brown, and it smelled like him. Ancel nuzzled closer.

Berenger didn't say anything, but put his arm around Ancel and held the book with one hand, ready to go back where he was.

 

“Read me that bore,” Ancel said.

 

“Wouldn't you prefer something different, then, if you dislike Isagoras so much?” There was a hint of teasing in Berenger's voice, and an actual readiness to get up from his warm spot and get a book of Ancel's preference, if he expressed a desire. That man, Ancel thought, was ridiculous.

 

“No,” he demanded instead, hooking his finger in the lacing, “I want to hear this mope.”

 

Berenger started reading. There was something about oranges and other fruits there, and about walking through an orchard with a loved one, while the flowers were blooming.

The spring was a short affair in the south, the trees and early flowers blossoming all at once, one blast before the first storm would blow off the faded petals. Here, in the northern regions, it was a languid period of the world suddenly going white and pink, nixing all the grey and dullness of the late winter. It was Ancel's favourite time of the year.

 

The next poem was of course battle, more precisely, conquering. The more interesting, as, apparently, about two bodies, instead of armies.

 

Ancel was listening, but half his attention drifted off somewhere else than the content of the poem. He was here, in the very moment, and the afternoon was pouring through his fingers, sweet and golden like fresh honey. He wriggled his left arm between Berenger's back and the cushion, the right one unhooking from the laces and linking around Berenger's frame.

 

The words were flowing, Berenger's voice a pleasant rumble underneath Ancel's cheek, low and soft in his ears. This poem was about admiring one's skill with the lute from afar, even though the admirer was not usually an avid music listener. And, of course, about the beauty of the seaside cliffs.

 

Ancel detangled himself and rose a bit higher, so he could look in Berenger's eyes without an effort. Berenger lowered the book and turned his face towards him, his eyes gentle. Ancel put his hand on that soft place between Berenger's clavicle and neck that was covered by the fabric of the jacket, with the other cradling his face. He bit his lip unconsciously.

Then, promptly, he kissed him, unasked, hesitant.

 

The book landed on the table and Berenger wound his arm around Ancel's back. The kiss deepened and they shifted slightly into more comfortable position, Ancel's arm moved from the shoulder into Berenger's hair. It was as soft to the touch as it looked like. He felt Berenger's arms drawing him even closer, and he put his legs from the side across Berenger's lap.

 

The kiss ended, but they remained close. When Ancel opened his eyes again, the brown gaze was already waiting there for him.

 

“I could take you to Ios, so you could see if those cliffs were worth Isagoras' quill,” Berenger said quietly, “now, that the borders are open.”

 

“Now, that you could,” Ancel said, smiling.

 

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr](http://pickyperkypenguin.tumblr.com)!


End file.
